


Dark Star

by amerasu1013 (amerasu_1013)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Violence, Dark, Evil, FBI Agent Steve Rogers, Fucked Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amerasu_1013/pseuds/amerasu1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The press call him the Star Killer because he carves a star into his victim's chest.<br/>He's murdered close to a dozen people so far. The FBI and lead agent Steve Rogers are nowhere near catching the guy. What they need is a lead, any lead, some way of getting him. There doesn't seem to be anything though, they have no lead, no clue who the guy is.<br/>Until someday Steve meets a guy who thinks the Star Killer is after him. Steve might think Bucky is sweet and innocent and cute, but he's also in danger. And - he might be their only lead to catching the killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you again to zilldk for betaing and generally letting me pester her with questions. You rock!  
> And you know the drill: English is not my native tongue, neither is is zilldk's. Plus I down't own shit.
> 
> Additionally: while the warnings needed for this fic are pretty obvious in the tags, I'm gonna put up some more detailed ones. In the end notes, for spoilery reasons.

“Fuck!” Sam says next to him, the word harsh and sudden in the gloomy room.

Steve shares the sentiment. Fuck indeed, he thinks as he stares at what remains of the body on the floor. He should be used to it by now, he’s been with the FBI for nearly a decade, he’s seen his fair share of violence and murder, but this… this is something else. This is not simply a killer, no. This is a _monster_.

It’s not the first time Steve’s seen the work of the one the papers call the Star Killer nor will it be the last. The guy simply _enjoys_ his work too much. The body of a man, draped on the floor. Arms and legs removed and carefully arranged next to him. His head on a chair, overlooking the room, eyes wide open and mouth twisted in a horrified scream that nobody will ever hear. Steve knows that face, the victim’s a second-rate celebrity, played a doctor on one of these sitcoms Steve never has time to watch. The killer watched it though apparently, because there’s a lab coat cushioning the head, keeping it upright, and a stethoscope wrapped around a neck that’s neatly severed. And yes, there is the star, the killer’s signature, carved into the center of his victim’s chest, flesh and dried blood glinting red where the skin has been removed.

There’s blood everywhere. A dark pool around the victim’s body, nearly black in the harsh light overhead. More blood, surrounding the sawed-off limbs, a trail of droplets leading to the chair. Red boot prints in circles around the victim, walking back and forth, as if the killer stood back to survey his handiwork and went closer again to, what, rearrange things for optimum effect?

Next to him Sam swallows roughly. “Fuck,” he says again, “fuck this asshole. We gotta catch him, Rogers, we _have_ to.”

Steve nods, jaw so tight it hurts. “Yeah.”

Tony and the rest of the crime scene technicians move in, Sam and Steve hastily get out of their way. Outside the bright LA sun beams merrily down at them, but Steve doesn’t care. Another victim, the sixth so far, and they still have no idea who he is. Sam’s right: they _have_ to catch him, but how, Steve doesn’t know.

 

***

 

They know the killer’s shoe size from the prints he’s left behind, but aside from that they don’t have much. Sure, their profilers have a lot of ideas: Male, between 28 and 35, statistically most likely Caucasian. Bruce thinks medical training, judging from the expert way he cuts up his victims, maybe intelligence training from the way he seems to stalk them, learns their habits and weaknesses. Possibly a former soldier, according to Thor, or at least he had training in hand-to-hand or maybe some form of martial arts, since he seems to have no problem subduing his victims.

Aside from that, not much. No DNA left behind, no fingerprints. The method is the same every time: he takes his time. Subdues or overpowers them, then… proceeds to cut them up while they are still alive. Dismembers them with great care and expertise and leaves them for the FBI to find. They know he likes killing actors, hence his name in the press. And for his calling card, his signature: the star carved into his victims’ chest, every single time.

They know he films the murders or takes pictures, they’ve found impressions of a tripod on various crime scenes and on one occasion an actual tripod. Their guy is a sick fuck of a bastard who takes pictures of his… work. All that they know, but it doesn’t get them a single step closer to catching the guy.

 

***

 

Eight victims now and Steve has started staying at the office, catching a few hours of sleep now and then on the couch in the corner, living on bad coffee and sandwiches from the vending machine. Sam is worried about him, Steve knows that, sees how his friend looks at him. He ignores it and focuses on work, because he has to catch that guy, he _has_ to.

Crime scene photos decorate the walls of his office, a myriad of bloody victims and unseeing faces surround him and Steve stares at them until his eyes feel hollow and dry. There must be something. He needs a breakthrough, he needs a lead, just a hint, _something_.

 

***

 

Ten victims and Steve has pretty much stopped sleeping. He pours through files, stares at photos till his head hurts, looks through evidence boxes until Sam makes him stop. Nothing, there’s nothing. He needs a lead, damn it, he needs something. But he can’t find it.

It’s weird, Steve thinks in the morning twilight one day, the rising sun warming his face, its rays like dagger in his eyes after yet another night of fruitlessly going over everything again. This whole case is weird. He knows every crime scene by heart, every photograph, every single piece of evidence. It’s been all he thinks about for these last weeks, months, really. He’s intimately familiar with it all, feels a weird sort of connection to the killer. It’s just… there is something about these murders, the crime scenes, that speak to him. It’s not simply a murder, it’s different. He takes his time, he arranges them, he takes pictures. It feels… personal, in a way, a fucked-up twist of a normal relationship, which makes Steve just more determined to catch the killer. But how? _How_? Ten victims and still they don’t have a single damn lead.

Until, the next day, they get one.

 

***

 

“Steve?” Sam pokes his head through the door.

Steve flinches and hastily shoves himself upright on the couch. “I wasn’t sleeping!” he says and is very aware Sam doesn’t believe him. “What? I’m busy.”

“Trust me,” Sam says and there’s something in his voice that grabs Steve’s attention, “you wanna see this.”

‘this’ is actually a ‘who’, as it turns out. A brown-haired man sitting in the interrogation room, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee and looking vaguely uncomfortable. Steve frowns as he looks through the one-way mirror. “So,” he asks slowly, “you’re saying this guy thinks the Star Killer is after him? What makes you think he’s not just another one of these weirdos that watch too much tv or someone trying to get his five minutes of fame?”

Sam nods and shrugs at the same time. “Thought so at first, too. But then he showed me this.”

And Sam lifts a hand and shows Steve an evidence bag. Inside is a creased piece of paper and on it, the drawing of a star.

Steve is inside the room less than three seconds later.


	2. Chapter 2

The man introduces himself as James Barnes. From the way he straightens and gets up when the FBI agent walks in Steve thinks Barnes may be former military, even with his long and unruly hair. Another clue for this is the way Barnes calls him Sir and makes an aborted movement towards a salute before they shake hands. Yep, an ex-soldier for sure, Steve knows the type.

Steve gestures for Barnes to sit down again, the other man obeys quickly. Then he wraps his hands around the coffee cup, apparently needing its comfort. He still looks uncomfortable, a little shy and unsure, eyes flicking around the room. Maybe checking for possible exits or generally uncomfortable in an FBI building (Steve makes a note to ask Sam if Barnes has any priors) or unsure if he’s supposed to be here. Steve makes his smile friendly and his whole body open and non-threatening, then sits down at the table opposite Barnes.

“Relax,” he says, “we’re just gonna talk.”

Barnes takes a deep breath and consciously makes himself relax. “Sorry,” he says, a little rueful, “I don’t do well in unfamiliar places. I, uh, I’ve been in the army? Just got out a while back, and you know…”

Steve smiles again. Former soldier is true then, probably with a healthy dose of PTSD. “It’s okay, I know what that’s like. Former Captain Steve Rogers, at your service.”

“Captain, huh? Never made it past Sergeant myself.” Barnes chuckles, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Not that you wanted to know that, I just… I’m not quite sure how to do this.”

Steve has to hide a grin. Barnes seems very shy all of a sudden, peeking up at Steve through his lashes, looking small and shy and almost… adorable. Down, Steve sternly tells his libido. Then man’s a witness and in possible danger from a violent psychopath, do _not_ think about how adorable he is or how long his eyelashes are. “How about you just tell me what you told Special Agent Wilson, Mr. Barnes?”

“Call me Bucky, please. Uh, okay. So I was at this bar two days ago and I was walking back home. And there was this really… shifty guy running across the street to a car.”

“Shifty? Shifty how?”

“I dunno, there was just something about him. Like, he was looking all around to see if someone was there and it just… it felt off, somehow? I just had a… feeling about him, if you know what I mean?”

Barnes, Bucky is blinking at Steve earnestly and Steve _does_ know what he means. It’s something he’s learned as a soldier that’s only gotten more refined during his years with the FBI, a gut feeling, a certain instinct that lets him know something’s off. It’s pretty damn handy and has saved his life on more than one occasion. So he nods and gestures at Bucky to continue.

“Right. I didn’t even think anything off it till I watched the news the next day and it said there was another victim, found right in the house the guy was coming from. And I went to the police and all, because I figured what if that was the killer? Only they didn’t believe me and then…”

Bucky trails off, his hands clenching around the cup. “When I went home I found that note on my doorstep, the one with the star? And I…” he swallows. “I know it’s probably unlikely, but maybe the guy saw me and… and then I saw you on tv and it said you were the lead agent on this? And yeah, then I came here. You think…” He falls silent, staring down at his cup, throat working.

Steve has been making notes the whole time, but now he looks up. Bucky meets his eyes, looking worried. “You think that was him? The… the Star Killer? He’s after me?”

It’s possible, yeah. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence, he doesn’t actually want to get his hopes up, even with this being the first semi-solid lead they’ve gotten. If it is true, if the killer really is after Barnes… well, then maybe, just maybe they’ve got a chance to catch him. And also, if it is indeed true, it means Bucky is in danger. This sweet, shy, innocent man is in danger. If it _is_ true.

“To be honest: it’s possible. But there are many other explanations for this, it could be a prank or just someone messing with you – it’s not like the thing with the star is a secret, really. Is there any way you could describe the man you saw?”

“No, sorry, it was too dark.”

Steve sighs. So much for that then.

“But… but I saw the license plate? That’s something, right?”

Well, _fuck_. That is something all right.

 

***

 

The next hour is somewhat hectic. Sam runs to the lab to get the note checked for fingerprints beside Bucky’s or any other trace. Natasha’s taking Bucky’s statement again, recorder running as they go over every little detail. And Steve? Steve checks the license plate, mentally crossing his thumbs, because this might be it, this might be the lead he’s been waiting for, the thing that brings them closer to the killer. This might be how Steve can finally catch the guy.

The license plate belongs to a car that has been stolen in New York three months ago, which didn’t pop up earlier because of state lines and shit. This is not really all that surprising, the killer using his own car would be… stupid. But: the description matches a car that has been seen near the scene of the eighth victim. And then, when Steve looks through photos from the earlier crimes, he finds the very same car parked right across the street from where victim number seven was found.

Sam punches the desk, damn near growling in excitement. Steve leans back in his chair and releases a breath that he’s seemingly been holding for months. Fuck, finally.

The others set about organizing the search, getting the local police involved and sending the license plate and car description to every station in the city. Steve gets up to tell Director Fury the details but stumbles when he takes the first step. Oh, right, food. He hasn’t eaten anything in close to twelve hours. Time to change that, especially since now they’re getting closer to the killer and Steve needs his strength. On his way to the vending machine Steve passes the interrogation room and sees Bucky still inside – shit, he forgot all about him.

The man looks startled when Steve enters, eyes widening in something like fear. That Steve gets, same as the way Bucky’s hand jerks towards his hip and a gun that isn’t there. Bucky’s not the only former soldier Steve has seen do that. He also not the only one to look embarrassed when he notices what he did, but he’s the first vet Steve’s seen that actually looks cute like that. Looking down, biting his lips, hands twisting nervously on the table. Adorable, really, somehow sweet and innocent and Steve has to work really hard to oppress the sudden impulse to hug the guy. Bucky. Even his name is sweet.

“Sorry for keeping you cooped up in here so long. I figured you might be hungry. Sandwich?”

Bucky takes the package from Steve’s hands and jerks a little when their fingers touch, ducking his head. Is that a blush rising on his cheeks? Interesting.

Steve doesn’t mention it though, because he might be wrong and plus, Bucky’s a witness and a possible target in the most important case of Steve’s life, it would be… unprofessional to develop any sort of interest in the guy. For a while they eat in silence and Bucky throws Steve all these quick little glances, immediately looking away and blushing whenever Steve meets his eyes. Damn. Now Steve _really_ wishes he’d met the guy somewhere else. Maybe afterwards, when it’s all done, he could take Bucky to dinner? Not that he needs fattening up, Steve thinks and eyes the other’s muscular frame stealthily, but still, take him on a date? Have coffee or something, flirt a little, see if he can make him blush again. He really is cute…

But first he’s got to catch that fucking killer. It’s clearly what’s been occupying Bucky’s mind as well, because, after meticulously folding up his sandwich wrapper, he twists his hands nervously and asks: “So, what happens to me now? Do you think he might go after me? Am I… am I safe?”

Steve swallows the last bite of his own sandwich hastily and reaches out for Bucky’s hands before he can stop himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. _We’ll_ protect you. I’m gonna put a patrol car outside your home, nobody’s gonna get to you, I promise.” He wraps his hands around Bucky’s fingers and presses them tightly for a moment. “I promise.”

Bucky searches Steve’s face for a long moment, then smiles suddenly. It lights up his whole face – Jesus, Steve thinks, that smile.

“Okay,” Bucky says, “I trust you. And thank you. I guess I’ll really be safe with… with you protecting me? The tv said you were in charge of this case?”

Steve’s about to tell him that he won’t actually be personally protecting Bucky, but the other looks at him so earnestly and so full of trust, he can’t make himself say it. “Yeah, I’m in charge of the investigation.”

“Wow,” Bucky breathes, looking at him from wide eyes, “you must be a really good FBI agent, then. How, uh, how did you… I know you’re probably not allowed to say stuff about it and I’ve watched way too much CSI, but do you like find a stain of something and figure out who the killer is? Does it work like that? Is that how you’re gonna figure out this one?”

Steve hesitates for a moment – he really shouldn’t talk about this with Bucky, but… it’s not like he hasn’t already spoken at length about this investigation at several press conferences and he’s not gonna tell the other man any of the… sensitive stuff. And Bucky looks so earnest and sweetly interested, well, Steve just _has_ to start talking. He’s a little embarrassed, actually, because Bucky stares at him with wide eyes, soft mouth open, looking so impressed and… in awe, when all Steve does is describe how he figured out the thing with the car being at several crime scenes. When Steve says that Bucky is the one who presented them with the license plate and is the one that may just have given them the lead they needed to actually find the killer, it makes Bucky blush furiously and his happy little smile is so sweet Steve can’t help himself.

He gives Bucky his private cell number. Just in case, if he thinks of something else he noticed about the man he saw, he tells Bucky. And himself, rather sternly, but doesn’t really believe it.

Bucky shakes his hand when he leaves, once again blushing. “Thank you very much, Special Agent Rogers, for everything.”

“Call me Steve, please.” He says without thinking.

The other smiles at his feet then looks back up at him. “And good luck with catching the guy.” He says earnestly. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

Steve rubs his neck. “I hope so.”

Bucky smiles at him, sweet and earnest, utterly convinced he’s right. “I know so. I bet you’re closer to the guy than you think. But, uh, maybe catch him before he gets me?”

Steve straightens at that and looks the other directly in the eyes. “I will.” He promises fiercly. “I will.”

Then Bucky is gone with a last smile. Steve stares after him for a second then shakes himself and gets back to work. He’s got a killer to catch and a promise to keep.

 

***

 

For once Steve is actually at home right now, lying in his very own bed. Fury sent him home and threatened to make it an order, soldier, go home and get some fucking rest before you fall over. Sam was nagging and nagging that Steve needed his sleep to stay sharp and well, there wasn’t anything he could say to that, not when he feels tired down to his very bones.

Sleep doesn’t come though, he’s really just dozing, mind occupied with the case and the damn car that hasn’t turned up yet when his phone suddenly rings. Steve hastily fumbles for it and nearly shoves it off the edge of the nightstand before he can wrap his fingers around the shrilly ringing device.

“Hello?” he croaks and clears his throat. Damn, he’s exhausted.

“Steve? Uh, Special Agent Rogers?”

“Yeah?” Steve sits up; that doesn’t sound like any of his coworkers, that’s for sure.

“It’s Bucky… James Barnes? From earlier today?”

“Bucky?” Suddenly Steve is wide awake, ruthlessly squashing the flare of happiness rising at the thought that Bucky actually called him. It’s not the time for that, because there’s something off in Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I just, you said that I could call you, and I’m sorry it’s the middle of the night, but you said night or day and…”

“Bucky, calm down!” Steve orders and gets up from the bed, trying to locate his pants. He’s pretty sure he’ll be leaving very soon, because fuck, Bucky sounds _scared_. “What happened?”

“There’s… the police car that was here earlier? The one you put there at my house? It’s gone…”

“WHAT?” Steve can’t believe it. “They were supposed to stay there all night! Did you see them leave?”

“No, I… I was asleep. And… Steve…” Bucky’s voice drops to a shaky whisper. “I think there’s somebody outside.”

 _Fuck_. Steve grabs his gun. “Stay right where you are and don’t let anyone in! I’ll be there in 20 minutes!”

He makes it in 10.

 

***


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a rough neighborhood where Bucky lives, a street full of run-down houses. It’s eerily quiet when Steve gets out of his car, the lack of working street lights turning the night into something oppressive, dangerous. He holds his gun at the ready and looks around – nothing. Not a single person in sight.

He checks the neighboring houses and Bucky’s backyard. Nothing there, either. Maybe Bucky was imagining things? There’s definitely nobody here _now_. Steve puts in a call to Sam, telling him the backup is not required after all, since it seems like Bucky was a little hasty. And even if he wasn’t, seems like the killer (if he was ever there at all) is long gone. And with Steve here now and backup only a phone call away, there’s no way the guy can get to Bucky.

Still, he should check on the guy. It’s not like he can fault Bucky, even if he just heard a cat or something and freaked out, it’s not like he doesn’t have a reason to be scared. And he’ll be sure to mention the fuck-up with the missing police car because that shit is just not on.

He knocks on the door and listens to Bucky’s quick footsteps inside the house. They stop at the door, presumably Bucky is looking through the peephole, then the door opens after a rattle of at least two security chains being unlocked. Steve nods to himself at that, satisfied that Bucky takes precautions.

Then there’s Bucky in the open door, looking ruffled and sweet and scared in sweatpants and a sleeveless t-shirt. Right, Steve thinks faintly, he said he was sleeping. He hastily directs his eyes towards Bucky’s face, away from the toes poking out from underneath soft-looking pants that are slightly too long in the legs, away from the small sliver of a hard, flat stomach peeking out between Bucky’s pants and his shirt and away from the frankly devastating arms. Muscular and strong, a fine dusting of brown hair, a little star tattoo on his left deltoid and fuck, Steve suddenly wants to bite those arms. Shit, Rogers, his eyes are up there!

Bucky doesn’t seem to have noticed Steve’s less than appropriate looks, because he smiles at him and exclaims: “Steve! I’m glad you’re here. Uh, do you wanna come in?”

Steve smiles back, how can he not, with Bucky looking so relieved and happy to see him. “Thank you.” He says when Bucky steps back to allow him inside.

The other leads him to his living room, ushering him to go inside. He smiles, a little charmed by how Bucky starts puttering around the room, straightening up as if he thinks Steve might be offended by a couple of dirty clothes lying around, draped over the couch and the armchair and a little desk in the corner, or the stunning array of open books everywhere. Seriously, they’re _everywhere_. And all of them are apparently about birds.

Bucky sees him look at them and chuckles. “I like birds,” he offers, as if that wasn’t clear already, “watching them, you know? Taking pictures. Not that I’m very good.” He flushes adorably.

“I bet you are very good.” Steve says gently because this man makes him want to be gentle. Especially with all the violent shit in his life he wants to be gentle. Here is a man who’s still… innocent, who deserves to be protected from it, sheltered. Steve is surprised at himself at how much he wants to be the one doing the sheltering, because Bucky looks at him from wide, trusting eyes…

Steve shakes himself a little and tries to focus on why he’s here. “I checked the area.” He says and Bucky immediately stills. “There’s nobody here. Maybe you were… imagining it? Either way, I’m gonna call for another patrol car and I’m gonna stay with you until it gets here, okay? Just to make sure.”

Bucky bites his lips and nods, eyes on the floor. “Thanks. I, uh, I heard something, earlier, outside? So I called you, because you said I could, but yeah. Maybe it was nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Steve immediately says, he can’t deal with Bucky looking so embarrassed. “You did the right thing. I’m gonna call for that police car now, okay?”

When he pulls out his cell, Bucky blurts out: “Wait!” Steve stops, cellphone in hand, and looks at him in question. The other fidgets a little, then says: “Could you maybe just… wait for a bit? I just…” His voice gets quiet and his cheeks are so red now. “If you call them you’ll leave and I just… could you maybe stay for a bit longer?”

Steve’s heart makes a leap at these words and when Bucky bites his lips and looks at him through his lashes, so does his dick. Shit, did Bucky make up hearing someone outside, just to get Steve to come over? He probably should be mad about that, but damn, he really, really isn’t.

“Okay,” he says and takes a chance, grasping for Bucky’s hand, “yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Really?!” Bucky damn near beams at him for a moment, looking surprised and happy, squeezing his fingers. “ _Great_!”

Steve chuckles at the enthusiasm in the last word and one second later he regrets it, because when he hears it, Bucky gets shy again. Steve shakes his head ruefully when the other flees to the kitchen with the offer of tea or coffee or there’s probably some beer in the fridge, if Steve wants that? It’s utterly charming, how sweet and shy Bucky is, especially since it’s kind of obvious he’s not really used to… this. Talking to men. Flirting. Inviting someone over to his house. Shiiiit. That can’t mean Bucky’s a virgin, can it? _Fuck_. And Steve thought the other guy couldn’t get any hotter.

Bathroom, Steve thinks, feeling pretty hot under his collar, sink. Water. Cool water on his face, that sounds like a really god idea right now. Fuck, he needs to calm down. Yeah, water.

“Hey, Bucky?” he calls out and is glad that his voice seems normal. “Is it okay if I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, sure!” Bucky calls back from where he’s rummaging through the kitchen. “Upstairs, second door on the right!”

“Thanks! Be right back!”

“Sure. I’ll have that coffee ready, or, or beer if you want? Anything you like!”

Steve shudders at these last words and hastily makes his way down the hallway towards the stairs. His pants are feeling pretty tight right now, and while sex is certainly where Steve is _hoping_ the night will end up, it’s probably not a good idea to be too… forward. ‘Anything you like’. _Shit_.

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

Steve steps through the door and immediately knows something is very, very wrong.

This is not the bathroom, it’s an empty room, devoid any furniture except for a tv in a corner and a blanket spread out in front of it with a bunch of DVDs on it. One might think Steve just went through the wrong door, went left instead of right, but he didn’t. He’s right where Bucky told him to go.

The room is near empty, but the walls aren’t. They are covered in photographs. And oh, he knows the people on those photos, he knows those faces.

Victim number one, mouth open in a silent scream. Victim number two, clutching the bleeding stump of her right arm. Victim number three, blood spraying out in a wide, glittering arc from his severed throat. Victim number four, his eyes bugging out at the sight of his own legs lying two feet away from his body. Victim number five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, their anguished faces, their blood splattering floor and walls. An eleventh person, unfamiliar to Steve, a face he doesn’t know and fuck, they’ve missed one, fuck…

“Finally figured it out, huh?”

Steve whirls around. Bucky is leaning in the doorway, left hand loosely curled around a tripod.

“I have to say, I was expecting you to realize it sooner. It’s not like I haven’t told you already. Remember? _I bet you’re closer to him than you think_.”

Gone is the shy, innocent, sweet man from earlier, in his place stands someone who is very, very different – with an unholy glint in his eyes, a dark smirk on his face. Steve feels cold, freezing, ice in his veins, he can’t move an inch. Now Bucky steps into the room, slinks closer, moving like the predator he is. He closes the door, puts down the tripod and walks closer. Steve’s mouth is dry, parched and he still can’t move. There’s something mesmerizing about the way Bucky moves, graceful and lethal, a slow stalk of his prey, something anticipatory gleaming in his dark, dark eyes. He’s circling his prey, circling Steve, Steve is the prey, Steve is the prey –

And that is when he can finally move. He yanks his gun from his holster, points it at Bucky and…

Pulls the trigger.

 

***

 

Bucky evades the shot, moving quick as lightning. The very next moment Steve is shoved against the wall, gun clattering uselessly to the floor. He strains against Bucky’s hold, fighting with all his might, but Bucky’s faster and stronger, pins him against the wall.

“I thought you’d be faster.” He breathes against Steve’s lips, so close Steve can almost taste him, eyes boring into him. “You disappoint me, Agent.”

A hand strokes over his cheek then, the photographs press against Steve’s neck with cruel sharp edges, he tries to buck the hold again, to no avail. He’s trapped, he’s caught, he’s…

 _Prey_.

“Then again… I knew if someone could find me, it would be you. Lead agent and all. Even if I helped you a little. Steve, oh Steve… I’ve been waiting for you.”

Why didn’t he call for backup, Steve thinks. Do something, fight, scream, anything, DO SOMETHING!

He opens his mouth to scream for help, but only a soft sigh emerges from his lips, because right at this moment the knife sinks into him. Pain in his stomach, sudden and sharp and deathly silver; Steve sighs again when all he wants to do is scream. Bucky cups his head when he slides down towards the floor, making sure Steve doesn’t bump it against the wall, cradling it gently, like a lover. Now Steve is lying there, blinking up at him and watches as Bucky bandages the wound.

“Sorry about that, Stevie.” He says, sounding apologetic, “I didn’t actually want to do that. You’re not gonna die, I promise.” He pats the wrapping around Steve’s stomach. “Well, not from this anyway.”

Help, Steve thinks. Someone help me.

Bucky strokes his hair. “By the way, I love the name they gave me. Star Killer? I like that. It's because of the actors, isn't it? Hey, this is L.A., it's not like there aren't enough around here... so _useless_ they are. So boring. Just another pretty face to look at on your tv... you on the other hand, you're different. It's okay, Steve, don't worry, you're not useless. You're more than just a pretty face, I know. You won't be boring, will you? The Star Killer! I like it.” He chuckles and Steve wants to scream. “You gonna be my 12 th star, Stevie? Hm?”

Steve tries closing his eyes but he can’t, he has to watch how Bucky moves the tripod closer. There’s a camera attached to it and Bucky’s arms bulge when he lifts it, making his star tattoo appear like a maliciously winking red eye. He can’t believe he didn’t see earlier, didn’t notice…

“Yes, I think you will be. You’ll see, I’ll make you shine so bright, Stevie. You’ll see.” Gentle laughter follows and Steve shudders.

Then the pain starts.

Now Steve starts screaming.

He doesn’t stop for a very long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Afterwards**

He wipes his eyes with bloody hands. He’s been crying, he usually does while he transforms them. How could he not cry? When what he does is so full of meaning? When he creates things, takes empty shells and turns them into something real? He creates, that’s what he does. He’s a sculptor, an artist, he’s God. Though it doesn’t take him seven days, of course.

He taps around the room on naked feet, absently scratching his bare stomach. Blood squishes under his feet and tickles pleasantly between his toes. His clothes are lying in a heap in the corner, he ignores them, they’re meaningless. Shells are meaningless. Only his creations matter.

He cocks his head and looks at the pictures on his wall. His creations. Before, an empty shell. A bland, pretty face to look at. But after, when he’s finished with them, so much more. A work of art. His work of art. Actors. How boring. Useless. Why pretend to be someone else when you’re not even strong enough to be who you are? A disgrace, really, trying at greatness, vying for attention. Not like him, oh no. He has their attention already. Just by being himself.

He had Steve’s attention, didn’t he? Steve talked about him on the news. Steve looked like he _saw_ him. Steve talked about him, more and more with every body they found, Steve tried so hard to meet him. And really, how could he say no to that? Oh yes, he had Steve’s attention. And _Bucky_ had Steve’s attention, sweet, innocent Bucky. He remembers being Bucky, back then, back before the war, before he found his true self. It wasn’t hard to let himself be Bucky again, just for a little while. To lure Steve in.

He has to think of actors again and shakes his head. No. This was different. Actors have no purpose, he had a purpose. Still has. This is _different_.

He looks at Steve. No, he wasn’t boring, was he? Steve talked about him on tv, Steve wanted to meet him. Steve wanted to see who he is. He’s glad he could show him. The Star Killer. He snickers. He is the only star here. It’s appropriate – people tend to orbit him like planets orbit their sun, their star. They always have, drawn closer to his power. In kindergarten, in school, in the army. Especially in the army. Leading men into battle, showing strength and determination. Being the only one who dared even go into that house, where the enemy kept his fellow countrymen that were captured a week earlier, or what was left of them anyway… Being the only one who looked at what remained of those soldiers he’d talked with just days ago without flinching. And, how fitting, they even gave him a star for ‘bringing back his brothers-in-arms’ so they could have a proper funeral… He laughs and presses a bloody thumb over the star on his arm. His unit gave him that tattoo, so full of admiration, orbiting him like planets… And Steve? Steve as well, but his orbit was an ever-decreasing one. Really, it couldn’t have ended in any other way. Planets orbit, they get too close to their star. Then they burn.

He wonders what name they’ll give him next. He has to leave, he knows. They know who Bucky is. They’ll find Bucky’s house, they’ll find Steve. They’ll find more – he wasn’t careful. How could he have been, with Steve? They’ll find his prints and his blood and… other fluids. He runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting the sweet nectar of Steve’s blood. Yes. He has to leave.

He takes a shower, humming softly. He packs a bag, smiling to himself. New York maybe? Dublin? He collects the DVDs. He will leave the pictures; the FBI will like them. They’ll add nicely to the collection they already have. His art.

He hears sirens start howling in the distance. He kisses Steve’s lips. Bye, Steve. I was right, you weren’t boring. I’m glad we met.

He sees blue lights start flashing at the end of the street. He steps through the backdoor and laughs: stars are watching him from the sky. He shoulders his bag and sighs. Goodbye, LA. Goobye, Steve. He hears Paris is nice in the spring.

He vanishes into the night.

 

**THE END?**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... yeah. I'm not sorry. AT ALL.

**Author's Note:**

> More detailed warnings: graphic description of a crime scene where the Star Killer is at his fucked-up best. I'm talking loads of blood and body parts.  
> Also more descriptions of off-screen murders as in mentions of dismembering and general fucked-upness. Mine and the killer's.  
> And, at the end, major character death. I reeeally don't want to type who actually dies, because that's supposed to be a surprise. But it's someone you know... (and no peeking at the end before reading the fic!! ... when I actually have posted the entire thing, of course. Because I'm mean and want to make you suffer and love cliffhangers and generally am a bad person, I'm not gonna post this all at once. :P)


End file.
